In which I get an unexpected message
Good news! I had been quaking in my Gucci slides about the last few weeks’ worth of columns, waiting for the fallout from
David 1.0, oh, and everyone else in my life. David is bound to be furious as I wrote ‘Never again’. And that he couldn’t lift a pot of daffodils without moaning and groaning. And that he looked like a homeless person.
Then, this morning, I received a text from him. I read it through my fingers. ‘Hi, I have just tried to read your column but can only see the first paragraph without subscribing. Which I would rather not. I could see, though, that you are having difficulty finding your deposit, and thought maybe I could help? How much do you need? Your column last week tipped me over the edge and I went out and bought tobacco. A decision I regretted immediately. I want to quit not just for you but for me.’
The paywall! Oh, thank the lord! It is as though I am writing this column back in the land before the internet. I would say to my then husband, who would ask me if I had written about him, as he had just received a concerned text from his lesbian best friend, ‘No, of course not! I’ve written about Squeaky and Snoopy and their special biscuits.’ He was too lazy and too much of a cheapskate to go out and buy the paper. It was fantastic, liberating. I felt unfettered.
David 2.0 (Ferrari man) is obviously not a cheapskate, as I know he still reads this column, because he WhatsApped: ‘I miss the banter we had when you used me as column fodder, but it was fun. I used to howl with laughter. You clearly love David 1.0, but he’s not worthy or in any way compatible. I don’t know why you bother.’ ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘He’s hopeless.’ I have no idea what put me off David 2.0: he has just bought a beautiful house with floor-toceiling windows. He sends me photos of the renovation of his bathroom. I think his Ferrari being white not red made me not want a second date, and the fact he made me go and sit in it. A fellow writer wrote recently, in a piece about joining a £10,000 dating agency, that the fact the man she had been matched with had at the restaurant bagged the comfy banquette seat, rather than the spindly chair, made her gag. Are we just too fussy? Do I always choose men who are financially dependent on me so I have the upper hand?
Anyway, I text David 1.0 back. ‘Hi D. I’m sorry my column made you start smoking again. You had promised not to read it. You must know you are very difficult to be around, it’s not a surprise. You never say anything meaningful. You didn’t ask about my sister, her funeral. You didn’t even bother to walk a few yards to see Swirly, the thoroughbred, and you were here for three days. She is the only horse I have left. Being a partner means taking an interest in their passion. I learned the names of your two children, remember*. I should hear back on selling my next novel to the US next week; I really hope my agent is not giving me false hope. Again. But, just in case, I am selling everything I own. I think you need something to take your mind off smoking other than watching TV and obsessing over me. Thank you for the offer of help towards my deposit, but I couldn’t take any money from you**.’
He replies. ‘I was struggling to breathe. It really shocked me.’
Oh, dear god. So. Reading my column nearly killed him. But he still offered to give me money towards my deposit. Jeez. No one ever gives me anything. Now that I’m behind a paywall and this bit is near the bottom of my page so he can’t see it without subscribing, I can safely say he is completely and utterly in love with me. What do we all think – should I propose on 29 February? *I’ve forgotten what the daughter is called.
**I’m not a common prostitute.
He won’t subscribe to read this column but he still offered to help